


Cult of Chaos

by YumeNoTsuzuki (Yumejin)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Dark Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Murder, Slash, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumejin/pseuds/YumeNoTsuzuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And they both laughed, skipping over corpses, knowing they had won."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cult of Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> The title is a song by Arch Enemy from the album Khaos Legions.
> 
> Edit [28th May 2012] : I changed 'Ron and Hermione' in one of the sentences, to 'Snape and the Dursleys'. I need Hermione and Ron for the sequel one shot... sorry.

Harry’s fingers traced the ink on his skin, lightly, lovingly. Lightning flashed in the distance, but he didn’t even really notice it. The rain never stopped here. The cold stone floor underneath him was always wet, the dampness seeping into his clothes. But all of this hardly mattered now. He had endured for seven years, seven long years in this hellhole. His time had finally come and he would shine again. He would be rewarded above all others.

 

The whole building shook with a loud rumble.

 

He dropped to the floor, his ear against the cold, wet stone. Footfalls. Steady and calm, they drew nearer and nearer… his heart raced for what seemed like the first time in eternity. He hadn’t felt so _alive_ since everyone who had claimed to care for him abandoned him here. Blood was pumping through his frozen limbs, setting his whole body on fire.

 

Explosions. Screaming. The scent of blood.

 

He shuddered in pleasure. It was finally time.

 

A tall, slim figure appeared in the darkness of the hallway. If Harry hadn’t already heard his footsteps, he likely wouldn’t have known anyone was there. But he had known and was staring at the shadowy silhouette intently, his eyes opened wide as a grin tugged on his lips.

 

 _“Harry Potter,”_ an amused voice echoed between the huge, stone walls. “Saviour of the Light… how far you have fallen,” the cold voice mocked him, white teeth flashing in the darkness.

 

“I will rise again,” he replied, his voice raspy and lacking in colour from the lack of use. Low chuckles vibrated in the air.

 

“As you always do. Not even I could ever stop you.”

 

Harry grinned widely, “Indeed…Eight times you’ve tried to kill me.”

 

“We could sit here and reminiscence all day, Harry. But I believe we have an appointment with one Albus Dumbledore to attend to shortly,” the voice was closer to him now; Harry hadn’t even noticed when the shadowy figure had moved.

 

“Well then, do you intend to free me or not?” Harry snapped. He had waited for this for far too long.

 

“Ever the patient one,” red eyes flashed brightly in amusement. As fast as a striking serpent, the man took out his wand and cast a few powerful curses in one swift movement.

 

An explosion shook the entire building again.

 

Harry released a shuddering breath. The bars of his cell were gone. He was free again.

 

Before he had much of a chance to react, even with his fast reflexes, he was pinned against the wall by a body larger and stronger than his.

 

“ _Shake off the shackles of Azkaban and reclaim with me the world which is rightfully ours, Harry_ ,” was hissed quietly in his ear, “ _My Beloved.”_

He shuddered in excitement and arousal at the words spoken in the language of serpents. The air breathed on his neck caressed his cold skin with a burning sensation, which completely overwhelmed him.

 

“ _Voldemort_ ,” he hissed back desperately, his eyes closing as he inhaled the unique scent of his lover, which he had longed for so much.

 

His lips were claimed in a quick, forceful kiss before the man drew back, his nostrils drawing in a startled breath.

 

“ _This is neither the place or the time for this, Harry. Come with me_ ,” he commanded, putting an arm around Harry’s shoulder and leading him out of the cell. Without protest, the thin man leaned into him and walked slowly, his feet adjusting to the forgotten motions once more. His limbs were thin and numb; it was difficult to will them to move.

 

Voldemort held him upright as they walked through the silent halls, blood and bones beneath their feet.

 

There was not one man alive in their path.

 

 

*

 

 

Besides a crackling fireplace sat an old man.

 

His silver beard spilled over his knees and a pair of blue eyes twinkled, reflecting the lights dancing in the fire. The quiet hum of the castle’s magic was comforting and soothed his aged ears.

 

With a sudden, loud crash, the wards around the school fell. He jumped out of the armchair and reached for his wand. But he wasn’t fast enough as a hoarse voice yelled “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” and he was thrown backwards into the wall by a blue blast hitting his chest, his bones breaking in several places. He didn’t scream, falling unconscious on the impact to the back of his head.

 

When he came to, he was startled to realise that strings of magic tied his hands and feet. He opened his eyes to see a wand trained on him. Following the wand, the thin arm to its owner, he was again shocked to see a pair of vivid green eyes, which glowed like the Killing Curse. They were hard and cold with something excited and unrestrained flickering in them dangerously.  Above them, a thin scar shaped like a lightning.

 

“Hello Headmaster,” the man said, grinning enthusiastically, his wand not moving an inch, steadily pointing at Albus Dumbledore’s face.

 

“Harry, what are you doing here?” the old man asked, unmasked shock showing in his wide, blue eyes. Harry cackled with wicked glee, as if he were eager to answer that particular question.

 

“I’m here to kill you, of course,” he said cheerfully, skipping in place like an excited child.

 

“Harry, I know you have given up on the Light, but I can help you. Let me help you,” the old man tried to reason but Harry silenced him with a slight flick of his wand.

 

“I didn’t want to hear you prattling on about this nonsense seven years ago and I don’t want to hear it now. I’ve made my choice when I let Voldemort brand this on my arm,” Harry pulled up the sleeve of his old, tattered, black and white prison robe, showing an intricate tattoo of a snake coming out of a skull’s mouth. It coiled up, as if readying to strike, baring its fangs at the old man. With his other hand, Harry caressed the snake with a single finger, as if stroking the black scales lovingly. It hissed contently, a thin, long tongue flicking out to scent him.

 

“I think, you, as the very reason for my defection from the light, deserve to know something about my alliance with the Dark Lord. You see, I wasn’t just any disposable Death Eater,” Harry chuckled a bit, seeing the confusion in the old man’s eyes. “No, I am so much more…”he breathed, glancing towards the dark corner of the room where he knew his lover was concealed.

 

In a flash, the Dark Lord is behind him, thin arms around his shoulders and warm puffs of breath caressing his neck. Harry turned his head to the side slightly, exposing more flesh, but Voldemort merely looked at the shocked old man from behind Harry, red eyes flaring with anger.

 

“Harry was my equal, my best spy, my…lover,” Voldemort said calmly, hands travelling down to Harry’s hips as the younger man moaned appreciatively.

 

Dumbledore shook his head, as if trying to shake off the truth, which was hitting him in the face.

 

“Yes, you old fool. You might have discovered him and thrown him in Azkaban and managed to drive me to the brink of death… but we’re so much stronger than that. Seven years is nothing in the face of immortality,” Voldemort showed a shiny ring with a black gem in the middle, adorning the index finger of his left hand. Dumbledore’s eyes widened with horror upon the realization and he finally accepted his defeat. He hadn’t won when he threw Harry in Azkaban those years ago. He had already lost; he just didn’t know it yet.

 

“Now that we are reunited, Harry, _my love_ , would you like to finally have your revenge on the old fool?” Voldemort spoke into Harry’s ear, the corners of his lipless mouth turning up in a twisted smile, which made Dumbledore shiver and struggle against his restraints. Harry purred happily at the close contact with his lover, but freed himself of the arms around him. 

 

“It’s useless, Dumbledore. You will pay for your idiocy tonight,” he said, walking up closer to the man. “You thought you could mould me for your twisted purposes, to be your perfect little weapon. All that accomplished was making me hate Muggles more and more every year you forced me to go back to that filthy place,” Harry leaned in so close that Dumbledore could see his own frightened, old face reflecting in those sparkling green orbs. “Voldemort is the best thing that has happened to me my whole life and since I turned away from you I’ve been happier than ever. Even Azkaban couldn’t break me,” his dirty teeth flashed in a grin. “Though admittedly, it wasn’t all ponies and rainbows. I wonder, have you ever actually been to Azkaban? Have you heard the hoarse screams in the darkest hour of the night as the Dementors suck out the very life from the only human being within close proximity? Then the screams stop and even when the soul has died, the sobbing and shaking of the body doesn’t cease. They sit there lifelessly, staring at you with empty, wide eyes, never moving,” his voice dropped to a mere whisper which for some reason sounded louder than a scream in the heavy silence of the room. “It’s terrifying,” Harry flashed him another insane grin and Dumbledore realized that Azkaban had only made the fearless monster within the young man stronger. He swallowed thickly, knowing he had made a terrible mistake, which would cost him his life.

 

“But enough of the small talk. You will die now. Say hi to Snape and the Dursleys in hell. Tell them that Harry sends his love,” he laughed at the top of his lungs and Voldemort joined in, showing his forked tongue with amusement. It doesn’t last long and Dumbledore knows his time is up.

 

 

*

 

 

Slashing his wand through the air in quick motions, Harry cuts the old man’s flesh, creating small patterns of bloody gashes. He giggles at the sigh and turns around to steal a chaste kiss from his lover’s lipless mouth, before turning back to Dumbledore, whose eyes were closed, his face wet with silent tears, his wrinkled hand forming fists as he braced himself against the pain in his whole body. But Harry was far from done. He didn’t spend seven years doing nothing. He had come up with a list of inventive and interesting curses he would cast on the man who had taken away his childhood. He boiled the blood in the man’s veins and burned the nerves in his skin. He twisted bones in and out of the broken body, amused by the cracking sounds of ribs breaking. His magic crackled around him happily as he poured more and more into the spells, breaking, slashing, burning.

 

“ _He’s dead, Harry,”_ Voldemort whispers in his ear, snapping Harry’s furious concentration.

 

“Oh…” he says ever-so-eloquently, staring at the mangled corpse in front of him. “I hope his wretched soul burns in hell, if such a place exists,” he says spitefully, not relinquishing the tight hold on his wand.

 

“I thought we’ve already agreed that Muggle beliefs are stupid and pointless,” Voldemort chuckles, circling around his lover predatorily. Harry growls.

 

“And yet I hope he suffers for all eternity and more.”

 

“I understand, he screwed with my life almost as much as he had with yours,” Voldemort steps up close to him, their noses mere centimetres apart. Harry’s breath is shallow and he leans into his lover’s chest, waves of tiredness and pain washing over his whole body. Azkaban hadn’t broken his mind, but it broke his body. He knows he is deathly thin, the joints and bones in his whole body hurt and even breathing involves a lot of effort. He had almost forgotten about it when he got carried away, all his concentration on fuelling the curses with all his magic. But now the tiredness had caught up with him and the world swirled around, as he felt completely disoriented and tumbled forward just to be caught by a pair of arms almost as thin as his own.

 

“Let’s get you washed. You smell like Azkaban and the old fool’s blood,” Voldemort says with amusement and grips Harry’s arm, apparating them both home.

 

 

*

 

 

It takes Harry a few days to regain his strength. His body is fresh and clean, carrying a faint scent of peppermint soap. His body is so responsive and sensitive to Voldemort’s cold touch; every delicate caress makes him shiver with desire.

 

“ _So eager_.”

 

Harry hisses in annoyance, dragging the man down on top of him. He feels the man’s arousal on his thigh and a smug smirk places itself on his rosy lips. His eyes clearly say _at last I’m not the only eager one,_ and they sparkle with amusement when Voldemort’s mouth captures his demandingly, possessively. He isn’t given a chance to breathe, a forked tongue demands entrance in-between his lips and then reclaims every place it can reach, tasting everything greedily. Their bodies pull closer together, seeking friction, longing for touch. They both shiver in pleasure, desperately wishing for _more._ It had been too long.

 

The clothes have an infuriating number of buttons and Harry resorts to simply vanishing them with a wave of his wand before it’s tossed away carelessly. Hot and cold skin bushes against each other desperately and their hands travel all over, remembering the pleasures they had been denied for so long.

 

Voldemort’s mouth explores Harry’s neck and collarbones eagerly, his forked tongue flicking in and out, teasing the soft, delectable flesh. The young man moans his lover’s name, spreading his legs further apart, impatiently. Their arousals rub together, making Harry writhe under Voldemort, all sorts of exciting noises escaping his lips. His lover thrusts forward, the friction between them driving Harry crazy.

 

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” he growls, his body instinctively arching up to get closer to the man above him. Voldemort chuckles and pins the younger man down so he can’t move while his erection is prodding at Harry’s entrance, a few drops of wetness dripping down in-between them.

 

“You...infuriating...bastard…” Harry snarls through gritted teeth. Voldemort grins and without warning, thrusts inside of he man beneath him.

 

He screams as the pain almost blinds him for a moment, burning inside of him. A few stray tears escape his eyes before he blinks them away. “You _asshole,”_ he spits out the words, but doesn’t move, knowing it would be less than pleasant. He doesn’t _really_ mind the pain, it proves to him that he’s alive and that after all those years he’s with his lover again and the passion between them it so hot it burns as fiercely as it did before. He is impatient and desperate and tries to move, but ends up wincing in pain again. Voldemort chuckles again in that infuriating manner, flashing his white teeth.

 

Harry is silently thankful that he’s now given time to adjust, but isn’t about to say it out loud. Instead, after a few moments, he wiggles a bit, encouraging the man to start moving. Now even Voldemort’s breath is ragged as he pushes in and back out, trying to reach as deep as he can. Harry is tight and hot and making noises that would make a dead man get an erection. He writhes underneath the Dark Lord, aching up to meet each thrust desperately, aching for more.

 

There are no words of sweet love, no declarations of deep feelings, there is only chaos and ecstasy and neither of them would have it any other way.

 

Their movements are frantic and fast as their sweat slicked bodies clash and come together. Harry’s moans get louder and louder and even Voldemort is gasping for breath desperately as he thrusts into the burning body beneath him with all his strength. It’s not long before his lover’s name in Parseltongue slips off Harry’s tongue and his body convulses in the most pleasurable way as he climaxes, his body clenching around the hot cock within him, causing Voldemort to come too. Harry can feel the liquid shoot inside and he cries out, throwing his head back at the overwhelming sensation.  Voldemort collapses on top of him and neither has the strength or the will to move anywhere else.

 

 

*

 

 

“My arse still hurts, you bastard,” Harry growls a few hours later, while fidgeting on his seat. Voldemort gives him a half disproving, half amused glare.

 

“You complain so much, but I’m sure you wouldn’t object to doing that again,” he says, sipping on a glass of wine. The faintest blush creeps up Harry’s neck at the thought, but he looks away, refusing to give Voldemort the satisfaction.

 

“Now, we have a Ministry to overtake. They’ve had seven years to prepare for our return, let’s see how well they can withstand an attack,” Voldemort gets up from his seat and leaves, Harry following after him, eyes shining with excitement.

 

 

*

 

 

“Albus Dumbledore’s death was an unfortunate accident,” Scrimgeour assured reporters who were surrounding him tightly, shouting questions one over another. “The Dark Lord is _not_ back,” he added firlmy, not a hint of hesitation in his voice.

 

And then a short wizard in ripped up robes, tainted with blood from head to toe, ran into the hall, limping slightly.

 

“Intruders at the entrance level! It’s _Him_! It’s really Him!” he squeaked and then collapsed to the floor, losing consciousness.

 

Chaos erupted.

 

Everyone was rushing to the emergency exits and the apparition points, pushing past each other in a mad race for safety. Screams and desperate cries were almost deafening. The glass in all the windows and doors shattered as a huge wave of magic hit them. It was dark, chaotic and angry magic, pulsing in the air, creating so much pressure it was hard to breathe. They were approaching.

 

The Dark Lord and his lover were walking barefoot through the pools of blood, gracefully defending themselves without much effort and throwing powerful curses around as if they were nothing. They were unstoppable, ripping through the thick crowd of people like it was made of paper dolls. People fell to the ground lifelessly, engulfed in a huge blast of green. Everything was burning down, there would be no ministry left by dawn. They struck down powerful witches and wizards with deadly efficiency. Limbs and guts were scattered on the floor, broken bones rattled as they fell to the floor, deprived of the bodies carrying them. The smell of burning flesh and blood filled the air. But they were far from done. It was not a mere coup d’état. it was a revolution. Their world would bathe in blood of innocents and be reborn, greater than ever before.

 

And they both laughed, skipping over corpses, knowing they had won.

 

 

 


End file.
